PR People
by a.college.kid
Summary: Quinn Fabray, the supermodel, is having a little trouble with the media. Her new publicist is going to help her out. Quinntana. Quinn/Santana.
1. Chapter 1

P.R. People.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray!" Not good. NOT. GOOD. CODE RED. Use of full names almost always means one thing, RUN. Quinn did just that. Without hesitation, she abandoned her book and reading glasses on her leather chair and quickly dove behind the sofa, curling up into a ball to protect herself from Kurt Hummel's inevitable lecture.

Kurt promptly unlocked the door to Quinn's apartment and opened it to find silence that occupied an empty room. His eyes wondered the space; he slowly took in every detail from the newly discarded material on the seat to the suspicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

A smirk grew. "Come out, come out wherever you are. Oh Quinny pie, I just want to talk to you, honey. Come sit, yeah?" No response. To be expected.

He wasn't fazed. He just plopped down on the sofa parallel to the one that hid his companion, crossing his legs and settling his messenger bag next to him. "I'm quite disappointed in you, Quinn. To say the least, you are quite an awful seek-ee… or maybe, I'm just a better seeker. Nonetheless, you may come out from your pathetic hiding spot behind that hideous thing you call a couch." Nothing. "Lucy." His voice is stern.

Quinn took a deep breath before slowly rising to her full height and sitting across from her not-so-happy friend. Her eyes are averted.

"Good. Now, do you know why I am here, Lucy?" She shakes her head, no.

"Think a little harder, I'm sure you'll figure it out." Another swift shake.

"Okay, well why don't you let me refresh your memory then, huh?" Kurt takes out a stack of various magazines, dropping them carelessly on the coffee table. There is a loud thud.

"Let me see…" He scans the titles for interesting headlines_,_ meeting her face on every cover.

He picks up one of the magazines titled, "Loveless Quinn Fabray Throws Water Bottle!" and flips through the pages to the desired article._ "'The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Quinn Fabray is on the loose. Just yesterday afternoon, paparazzi spotted supermodel, Fabray, speeding down the streets of L.A. When they caught up with her, she seemed to be in no mood to talk. After a few clicks of the cameras and some exchanged words, the twenty-two year old apparently lost her cool and threw an empty water bottle and an barrage of bobby pins at one of the men before disappearing into her three year old daughter's preschool. _

_"Despite her stand as a wholesome individual in the public eye, recently Miss Fabray has had a short fuse with the media. She is rarely spotted out anymore and when she is, it usually ends in disaster, not unlike this little run in. The cause of this change, you may ask? We can only assume that this is due to the last four years of stress from life as an international supermodel and fulltime, single mother. Along the same lines, we believe that she also suffers from a strong sexual frustration, i.e. the lack of steamy action in her bedroom. Her last public relationship was with thirty year old B-list actor and father to her child, Noah Puckerman. Though, that romance lasted all of two months before Fabray got pregnant and dumped. Clearly, Puckerman left her with a broken heart…_

_"In an interview not long ago, Fabray showed her distaste for love when asked about her previous relationship and her current romantic life. The model stated, 'Fuck love, people suck.' These are very cold, harsh words from such an established good girl. Still, we hope that Quinn Fabray gets her act together soon. Then we might see the hottie back on the market; four years is definitely way too long to keep this beauty under lock and key!"_

"Well, remember now?" Kurt's eyes directed at his fidgeting friend.

"It's ringing a bell…"

"Really, Quinn? You threw a fuckin' water bottle at the guy!"

"…And bobby pins…" She said to herself.

"What was that?"

"Okay, okay, I did it!" Quinn held up her hands in defense.

"Yes, and it was oh so classy, Quinn." He gives his signature eye roll.

"You know what, Kurt? That was the day I had to leave my shoot early to pick Beth up from school 'cause she got sick, okay?" Her voice rose a little in defending herself, but slowly began to weaken as her weariness set in. Sigh. "I've just been really stressed with all the shoots and runway and flights back and forth. On top of that, the paparazzi won't leave me alone with all that stuff they keep throwing in my face about Noah and my love life… Then there's Beth to worry about… It's just becoming a little too much for me."

"Aww, honeyyy." Kurt moved to Quinn's couch, engulfing her in a much needed hug. She gladly returned it, nuzzling into his arms with her face to the crook of his neck and her eyes shut peacefully. "Hmmm."

"I don't want to make things worse, but your publicist called."

"What'd she want?" Her eyes remained closed.

"She said you have a meeting with a Mr. Lopez to talk about your recent escapades." Quinn's eyes shot open to connect with Kurt's. Her arms loosen their grip and fall to her sides.

"I really hope you mean George Lopez."

"Uhh no, it's with an Alberto Lopez. Why? Is he important?" The color drained from her face.

"No, not really… he's just the FOUNDER AND CEO of the public relations firm that represents me. It's cool, not like I've been bad or anything. It's great. Yup, fine and dandy..."

Moments pass. "Uh, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind picking Beth up today?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Because I think I'm going to faint right now… Yup. Going. To. Faint." And she did.

* * *

><p>Like it? You should give me comments! And thanks for all the pre-lovin'.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

"How long exactly are we going to stand here, Quinn? I kind of have things to see, people to do…" Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Just another minute, I promise." Quinn remained motionless, eyes fixated on the doors in front of her.

"I would believe you, but it's been close to twenty of those 'another minutes' and I'm beginning to think that you may quite possibly-sort of-kind of… be lying to me. I'm not sure though, it may just be me." His sarcasm is blatant, but draws no response. Irritating. "Baby, were you born with superpowers I've been unaware of?"

"No?"

"Have you, I don't know, developed superpowers at anytime in your twenty two years and three hundred and… fifty eight days of life?"

"No."

"Are you crazy then?"

"On occasion, though not at this moment, I believe."

"Okay, then can you explain to me why a sane, superpower-less individual such as yourself would be staring at this building like you're going to blow it up with your mind, Quinn? 'Cause I really want to know, really I do. Enlighten me."

She turns to her side to face him, hands on his shoulders shaking him sporadically as she spoke, emphasizing the seriousness behind her words. "I can't do it, Kurt! I. Can't. Do. It." Her intense stare turned blank with realization, capturing Kurt's full attention. Her tone is unnervingly calm. "I'm going to walk in there and find this big, clean shaven man in a business suit sitting in his huge chair, behind his huge desk, in his huge office and he's going to tear me apart with his words. He's going to tell me how I'm out of control and how I've gone through publicists like you go through men. Then he's going to talk about Noah… and Beth. Then, finally he's going to put me out of my misery and tell me that they're not going to represent me anymore. I'm going to be _black listed!_ Do you hear me, Kurt? Do you, huh? _Black Listed!_" Slap.

She looked into his eyes, like _really_ looked into his eyes for the first time that day. "You slapped me. You really slapped me. What the hell… bitch?" The vulgarity sounded strained and foreign from her tongue.

"I did. And I enjoyed every second of it, got to love the theatrics of the situation and all that, but that's beside the point. You, missy, need to get your pretty, little ass in there before you're late."

"I told you, I can't."

Kurt rolled his eyes before taking Quinn by her shoulders and turning her towards the building once again.

"Eyes on the prize, Quinn!" He got behind her and began roughly kneaded her shoulders, prepping her for her meeting as they both stood facing the doors of P.R. People. "You got this, champ, you got this!"

"Isn't gonna happen. Nuh uh, not doing that. Nope." Her eyes never left their reflections in the glass.

"Yes you will, baby, you got this. Now, you're going to go in there and kick ass. Not, uhh, not literally though 'cause that's kind of how you got into this situation in the first place, but I mean, show him what you've got! Wait, don't do that either 'cause they'll think you're a slut… eh, maybe if he like sluts?" Quinn tilted her head to the side, looking over her shoulder at Kurt. A signature brow rose.

"Uhh, yeah, scrap that, bad idea. Just listen to what the man says and if it's not looking good, just tell him what's going on. And if that fails maybe you can show a little leg or something." Quinn is not amused.

Kurt shrugs, "Baby, plan B, that's all I'm sayin'… a lap dance, grinding, some T n' A-"

"Stop."

"Hey, that kind of stuff gets you places, Quinny pie."

"Okay, I'm leaving you, now." She slowly inched towards the door, had her hand so close to opening it before she froze.

"Oh no, Sweetie, pull." Nope.

"It says, 'pull,' baby." Nada.

"You're not getting in unless you PULL." Nuh uh.

"Goddamn it, Quinn. PULL!" Nothing.

/

Kurt bursts through the doors and walks to the front desk with Quinn being pulled behind him by her ear. "Uh, hi…" He smiles sweetly, like he's not doing something completely out of the ordinary. "…Can you point us to Mr. Lopez' office, please?"

"Yes, do you have an appointment?"

"This one does. The name's Fabray."

"Ah yes, Ms. Fabray, Mr. Lopez has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Take the elevator to the top floor and his office is down the hall to the right, through the double doors. Mr. Lopez should be in."

"Much appreciated."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Ms. Fabray?" Quinn looked back as she was being dragged towards the elevators.

"I hope things go well." She nods towards a rack of magazines plastered on the wall, Quinn's face on every cover.

"As do I."

When they reached the elevators, Kurt pressed the button, summoning one. Then he turned toward his companion as they waited. "Spread them."

"What?"

"Spread your legs and put your hands behind your head!"

"I don't think it's time to play police, Kurt. And why would you…" Kurt didn't respond, he merely started to do what she was refusing to. "Hey, stop that!" She swatted at his wandering hands. "Fine, I'll do it myself. Happy?"

With her legs apart and hands in her blonde locks, she stood. And Kurt began to frisk her.

"Remove your hands from my body, Kurt!"

"Don't wet your panties, Quinny. I'm done; just checking for water bottles and bobby pins." Not really though, he kind of just wanted to rattle her cage a little.

"Oh, fuck you, you little-" Ding.

"Elevator's here, baby." Quinn reluctantly steps in, her arms crossed and a frown on her lips.

"Well, aren't you coming?" The doors slowly began closing.

"Nope." She needed to get out. Too late. Doors shut. The last thing she saw: Kurt waving goodbye.

As he walked away, he heard an aggravated groan come from the elevator, followed by a, "Son of a bitch!" He chuckled to himself.

Ding. The doors open to the top floor. Then they closed… with Quinn still behind them.

Quinn Fabray was not proud of herself.

Ding. The doors open to the ground floor. Then they closed… with Quinn still behind them. And that was how the vicious cycle began. Up and down. Down and Up. To run, or not to run? That is the question. The answer? Apparently, to run a little, but then to… not run.

She stood in front of the dark, hardwood double doors. As she straightened out her dress and tried to calm her nerves, she read the golden nameplate softly to herself over and over again. _Alberto Lopez: CEO._ Okay, she's ready… or as ready as she'll ever be. Wait. No secretary… does she let herself in? Does she knock? God, of course she knocks. Stupid question. Manners, much? Wait. When she meets him, does she shake his hand? Or does she curtsy? Do people still curtsy? Just for kings and queens and stuff, right? But he's kind of like the king of his public relations castle, so… Or wait; is it not even curtsy at all? Maybe she was thinking of bowing. Though that could just be the male equivalent to curtsying…

Screw it, she'll just wave.

Knock. Knock… Shit, that was way too loud.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time goes by… Or, maybe it was too quiet.

Maybe… she should speak up, find her voice.

Silence.

She's a chicken.

"Uh…"

Quinn Fabray: crazy enough to throw a water bottle at paparazzi, chicken enough to make herself late to an important meeting.

"Mr. Lopez, this is Quinn Fabray. We have a meeting today and I've been told you'd be in your office, but you've shown no indication of hearing me, so I'm just going to let myself in now. Please excuse my intrusion."

She opened the door just enough to get herself into the room, before closing it again. As she turned from the closed door, she was taken aback by the sight in front of her. This office was not an office, oh no, not at all, it was a home. And this home was not home to a businessman, it was home to that strange, but endearing uncle that everyone has. This was unexpected. Quinn was overwhelmed.

There was crème colored, shag carpeting. There were mismatching, fabric couches and colored throws. There were hundreds of framed pictures of friends, family, and world travel adorning vivid, orange walls. There was a wooden desk, signatures on every bit of surface. There was a leather recliner behind that desk, an all glass wall behind that recliner, and a breathtaking view behind that glass. Beautiful.

Suddenly, the fear had exited her body. She could fear no man that could bring such warmth and comfort to a room. Relief.

"Hello, Mr. Lopez, are you in here? Mr. Lopez?" Of course he isn't here, where could he be hiding?

"Ughhh…" She hears a light groaning from the desk, followed by a large intake of air and its release. Okay… strange. She walks around the desk and peaks under to find a man, probably Mr. Lopez, peacefully sleeping, facing away from her. This… yeah, this is weirder.

"Um… Mr. Lopez, it's me, Quinn Fabray." Nope, still sleeping.

She nudges him slightly on the shoulder to try and wake him. "Mr. Lopez…"

He slowly begins to wake with a groan and the stretching of his arms. "Ughh…" As he turns to face her, his tired eyes see a dark figure, due to her crouched position at the desk's opening and the light from the window behind her, forcing a shadow over her front. He screams, catching her off guard and causing her to scream along with him.

He reaches into his pockets subconsciously and pulls out all his money and shoves it in her direction. "Here, this is all I have. Please don't kill me."

"What? Mr. Lopez, I don't want your money!"

"Fine, give me back my money and then you can kill me!" She laughs at this.

"Mr. Lopez, I'm Quinn Fabray, the supermodel. We have a meeting today, I'm not here to take your…" She looks over the contents of pockets. "… two dollars and ten cents or kill you. No need to worry." She backs away from the desk, allowing the light to hit her. "See…" She gestures towards her face. "…It's just me."

Mr. Lopez releases the hand, he didn't realize was clenching the flesh over his heart. "My god, Ms. Fabray, you mustn't sneak up on an old man like that, especially while he is resting. If you do not mind helping me up, please?" He reaches out for her.

"Oh, of course." She gently guides him into the recliner and makes her way to the chair facing his, from across the desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lopez, I usually have a different effect on men."

"It is I who should be sorry, Ms. Fabray… To think, me, a rather large, Hispanic man spooked by a petite, white woman such as yourself… Times have changed, for the better, I suppose."

"Yeah…" God, Alberto Lopez was a good-looking man. He was seriously hot, but not in the way you'd expect. Everything about him just screamed, "Unconventional." Though, he's probably in his late fifties/ early sixties, he could pass for early forties hands down. He had this suaveness to him, she didn't know what, but it was just something that attracted him to her. It could have been anything, his shoulder-length, dark and curly mane, his knowing, brown eyes, his rich, sun-kissed skin, his deep, sensual voice… No, it was definitely his beard, his beard is undeniably sexy. If you didn't know, Quinn had a thing for beards.

"So, how are you doing today, Ms. Fabray? Everything, okay?" Mr. Lopez leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm kind of nervous though, I think I'm in a bit of trouble. By the way, you can call me Quinn, Mr. Lopez."

Mr. Lopez let out a whole hearted laugh. "Okay, Quinn, if that is the case, you may call me Alberto. And no, you are not in trouble. I have just called you in to give you a heads up on what we are doing with you, public relations wise. You see, this whole emotionally decaying, loveless supermodel persona you have got going on scares most of my employees, which has led them to leave you publicist-less as of late. I, personally, have no problem with the way you carry yourself, seeing as you are put under so much stress from modeling, being a single mother, and just life in general…"

"Thank you so much, Alberto. It is such a relief to know that you understand."

"It is nothing really, Quinn, this is what P.R People does, we accommodate to our clients so our clients, in turn, accommodate to the media-plagued lifestyle. Right now, we must discuss the issue at hand, which is you being without a publicist. You, my dear, have gone through a significant amount of my employees, causing the rest to see you as a, sort of, media kryptonite. Frankly, no one will take you on. I would do it myself, though I have many plans for the upcoming year and despite what you may have seen underneath my desk, I am a busy man."

"I know my attitude hasn't been up to par lately, but I'll do better, I promise. I just need another chance, Alberto."

He smiles. "I know you will, Quinn. This is why I have set you up with the best, my granddaughter, Santana. And before you protest, you must know that she is,_ truly_, the only one in this company that will even consider working with you."

Santana Lopez. Quinn didn't keep up with the media much, but she did know a significant amount about Santana Lopez. She is the granddaughter of Alberto Lopez and possible heir to his public relations empire. She is twenty six years old and already a force to be reckoned with in her field. And, rumor has it; she's a bombshell that sleeps with a lot of rich and famous people. _Great_.

Quinn puts on a fake smile. "Thank you, Alberto, I'm happy you're giving me a second chance and I'm sure you won't regret it. I'll be on my best behavior… with your granddaughter."

"Definitely good to hear, but before you choose to work with Santana I have a question to ask you."

"Yeah sure, go ahead. Hit me."

"Do you like women?"

"Uh, I don't… I don't really understand the question."

"It is quite simple, Quinn. Are you interested in women romantically? Are you enticed by the female form? Are you open to indulging in a taste of the forbidden fruit?"

* * *

><p>I'm really sorry about the no updating thing. I know you don't like me being with her, but MIA(missing in action) makes me happy and I love her! I know she's bad for me, but I don't care!;) No, seriously though, I've had a busy senior year and if I had any time to write, I'd get stuck. I do appreciate all of you, though. Somebody even said they'd help me if I had writer's block! You guys are awesome… and I'll try to update more. I graduate in a month, so I might just keep my promise! Thanks for all the lovin'.<p> 


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